


remembrance

by candycity



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M, gomen, repetitive angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 13:51:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candycity/pseuds/candycity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Levi remembers - after a fashion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	remembrance

His blood turns to ice when he sees her broken, unmoving form. 

Her hair catches the light, illuminated in the harsh afternoon glow; the gold that threads through the copper is stark against the dewy pallor of her skin.

Ironically, it's the light that makes her look so much more dead. The the bright rose lips, tinged with blue; the stiff, unmoving limbs; the thick eyelashes that frame glassy, staring eyes like cooled amber - she looks like a doll, and the thought makes him want to throw up. 

She is painfully beautiful and inhuman and unreal in death, and he's almost grateful for the crimson that stains the white of her forehead and cheekbones and drips, not yet stagnant, from the spiderweb strands of sunset-hair. 

The blood, at least, makes her look human; it assures him that she was once alive. 

 

Later, when he bends over her impossibly still body, tiny in death - he leaves her as she is, with her bloodstained uniform and dishevelled hair and lips slightly parted in surprise that came too late. 

He tears out the patch with the rough gentleness of a soldier, calloused fingers prying, inexperienced, away at well-sewn stitches. 

He tucks it into his pocket, and tries to ignore the sickening stench of blood and death that intertwines with the trace of floral perfume that clings resolutely to the fabric. 

 

The bundle is thrown carelessly out of the cart, bending willingly to gravity and hitting the dry ground with a dull thud. 

The fabric that hides a face that he refuses to acknowledge falls back, just a little, just enough to reveal a glimpse of familiar sunset-hair. 

If he closes his eyes, maybe, he can imagine that it's not her - there are plenty of redheads in the Corps, really - if he closes his eyes, allows the physical pain to flood his mind and drown out everything else - then maybe he won't see her broken body falling unresistingly to the ground, won't feel those invisible daggers that pierce at his heart and tear at his soul. 

 

Levi doesn't say anything during the remembrance session - he hears the wistful anecdotes that Mike and Hanji recount, and he knows, in theory, that they - she - were once alive, like they will always be in their minds. 

He remembers a night spent gazing at the stars with Petra; remembers how she pointed out constellations with the barely restrained excitement and knowledge that comes with passion. He remembers listening in silence as her voice filled the night, not interrupting even though he didn't really care for astronomy, because the smile that tugged at the corners of her lips was worth it. He remembers watching the horizon until crimson and gold emerged, streaking the sky with light. 

He takes another swig of the alcohol and wonders why it seems so very long ago. 

 

He hates himself for it, but it is not her bell-laughs or her gentle smiles that linger; it is the image of her face, beautiful and painted with blood, that is frozen into his memory.

He imagines, sometimes, that he sees a trace of reproach in those dulled eyes.


End file.
